


you hate the tenderhearted torch song

by Shadowcrawler, unwindmyself



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Guilt, Letters, Paranoia, Season/Series 02, Self-Harming Ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of (mostly) unsent letters that Jemma and Skye write each other during their separations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hardly happy at all and I'm ready to take the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, pre-2.01.

_[written on neatly-folded, slightly water-spotted notebook paper and left in Skye's jacket pocket]_

Skye –

I’m sorry

I’m

I want to tell you

I can’t say what

I’m sorry

Please look after everyone.  I know you will, of course you will, you always do.  You’re incredible.  I don’t

I’m sorry.

J.


	2. the weather is changing and breaking my stride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, pre-2.01.

_[written on unlined paper, folded into a tiny triangle]_

Skye –

I’m almost positive I shouldn’t be writing things down like this, but – it’s pen on paper, and I’m keeping it on my person.  If anyone should discover it there, I’ve got larger problems, and it’s easy to destroy if I’ve got to.  I know you’d laugh, warn me against leaving evidence, tell me smartly how it would be better to do some convoluted file-encryption business and avoid the paper trail, but you’re better at all that than I could ever hope to be, so I suppose I’ll just go about it this square way and run the slight risk.

Coulson and May didn’t tell me how they got me this flat.  Maybe it used to be a SHIELD safehouse, but it’s in the middle of the city, it doesn’t seem covert enough to serve as a safehouse.  Maybe that’s the point, though.  I didn’t ask.  I know you would have done, you would be full of questions.  I’m not uncurious, I suppose, I just – it’s hard for me to think of questions when I’m scared.  It’s hard for me to admit that to anyone but you, but I am.  I’ve got to believe I’m doing the right thing, though.  For Fitz and for the team and

_[three lines of indecipherable scribbling]_

I want to think that someday I’m going to give these to you.  I want to think that someday I’m going to see you again, and that you’ll want to see me then.  I’ll walk through the door and fall into your arms and maybe I’ll never have to be without you again, I don’t know.  That sounds lovely, but I can’t be sure of anything anymore.  I’m sorry I couldn’t say a proper goodbye, but Coulson didn’t want me to tell anyone what I was doing.  Knowing might compromise the rest of you, if someone should ask, he said, and it might cause you to worry about me, when you have much more important things to focus on.  I’m assuming that’s what he meant, too.  At least this way, I’m going to be doing something important too, or trying.  Earning my keep.  Not just sitting back and screaming and fretting like a helpless child.

Anyway, that’s what I hope.

I’m terrified, but I’m trying to think positively.  I’m going to have to, if I’m going to manage to keep this up.  Can’t let on that I’m nervous.  I just keep thinking about what you had to do, with Ward, looking him in the eye and smiling like nothing was wrong, taking his hand and walking into the trap he thought he was setting, and I’m sure you don’t need the reminder but then you may never see this, so – if you do, I’m sorry for upsetting you, but I also need to explain to you what an inspiration you are.  You’re – you behaved so admirably, you managed to warn everyone else, you managed not to break.  I keep thinking about it because I know that I can’t break either.

My instinct, when I stepped into this flat, looked at its cheery yellow walls and its sturdy, functional, bland furniture, was to curl up on the bed (it’s large enough to fit the both of us without squeezing, not like the beds we’re used to) and pull the blankets over my head and cry like I haven’t let myself in – you know, I’m not even sure?  I don’t think I fully stopped crying for days after Fitz and the ocean, but it wasn’t the proper kind of crying, it was sniffling and sulking and not being able to let myself really have at.  Why would I cry when I’m the one that made it out okay?  I can recall every time I’ve cried in recent months, but I don’t think it’s been the sort of crying I need right now since – goodness, since Frank passed.  When it wasn’t getting in the way of anything urgent and it wasn’t entirely self-indulgent and it was still okay.  

But it’s not okay, is the point of that.  So I didn’t cry. I put on the exercise clothes that May brought for me (she knows these things better than I do) and ran on the treadmill that’s installed here for an hour and I might have done more if I’d been able to breathe better and my stomach didn’t decide to remind me that I hadn’t eaten since the granola bar I had on the plane over.  Coulson left me groceries, so I made myself cheese on toast (the kitchen here is very well-equipped, if not quite as upgraded as some interior designers would prefer) and I ate it watching whatever inanity was on the Disney Channel because I figured that would be the thing on that had least chance of reminding me of anything unpleasant.  There still wound up being some subplot about friends fighting, but it was silly enough it didn’t send me too far down the trail (the beer I was having didn’t hurt).

The beer is also why I’m writing you, I think.  I apologize if my handwriting is messy, even if you may never see this.  I hope that you do, and I hope that if I’m not able to be the one to give it to you that somehow it finds its way to you.  That it might be some comfort.

Please know I love you.  I wish I could have told you one last time, but I hope there’s still time for that last time, and if there isn’t I hope you’ll forgive me and accept this as a final substitute.  I love you.

J.


	3. knocked your heart right out of sync

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye to Jemma, pre-2.01.

Jemma,

I found your note. It was a couple days after you left and I almost threw it out cause I thought it was just trash. But I didn’t. I hid it and I pull it out to read it sometimes. That’s stupid, isn’t it? But that’s what I’m doing.

I dunno why I’m writing this, even, it’s not like you’re gonna read it. And the shrinks from when I was a kid would have a field day with this – they used to tell me all the time to write down my feelings. I hated them for it and just wrote down bullshit until they said I could stop. Computer stuff, I get that. Using my words? Nope.

But here I am anyway. I dunno what to say, except…I miss you. I miss you so much. I’ve probably bored Trip to death talking about you. We’re friends now, him and me – Fitz spends so much of his time downstairs, Coulson’s locked up in his office, and May’s not exactly a sympathetic listener. So it’s been good to have someone to talk to. But he’s not you. Coulson said you left for a good reason and I believe him – I have to. I can’t think about the other option.

Come back, please. I don’t like needing people, but I kinda need you.


	4. I wish that we didn't have to go about things this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, pre-2.01.

Skye –

It’s not a bad flat.  Very chipper.  Very normal.  It looks sort of like my mum decorated it, actually, all bright and airy and no room for sadness or suspicion here.  I’m sure you’d hate it.  I’m sure you’d want to come in and hang posters on the walls and throw scarves over the lamps like those women in that 1970s music movie you showed me did in hotel rooms, then pin me against the counter and

I’m sorry.  

It would be fun if someday, we got to do something like this together.  Or – well, not fun, in the exact sense of the word, I’m sure it would be for terrifying reasons that we’d be undercover, but – all right.  I think what I mean is that it would be fun if we got to pretend to be normal together, not just for a couple of hours like we do when we sneak off to the thrift store and I pretend like you’re not hiding extra shirts under your shirt when we leave.   _Preferably_ not pretending to be normal so we wouldn’t be caught spying on Nazis, but I think you know what I mean?  I want to crash in some boring apartment with you and risk losing our security deposit from the mayhem we get into and

_[half a line scribbled out]_

None of that can ever happen, can it?  Even if I do come away from this alive (I have my suspicions that I won’t, neither Coulson nor May actually answered me when I asked about the probability of my survival, and the only reason that really worries me is that if I got myself killed I wouldn’t get to see you again, I’m not so worried for myself but I wouldn’t want to leave you for good) our lives are never going to be normal.  People get hurt, people turn evil, people die, people do enough horrible shite that we have to fix that we couldn’t go back to being normal even if we wanted to.  I’m sorry.  I wish we’d met in another life, in another way.  I wish we wouldn’t have to

_[half a line scribbled out]_

I haven’t even been drinking tonight, I don’t know what my excuse is this time.

I love you.  Please forgive me.

J.


	5. what do you do with the leftover you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye to Jemma, pre-2.01.

Jemma,

I’m just gonna keep writing these because I guess they make me feel better or something. It’s stupid. It’s not like you can read them. But it’s…I hate saying “cathartic” because that makes me think of the damn therapists, but it’s basically that.

Anyway. Everything’s so weird without you here. We're supposed to be getting some new people soon. Hartley and Hunter or something like that. May says his full name is actually Lance Hunter which, holy shit, shouldn't he be a porn star or something? C'mon. (If you were here you would laugh at that.) It'll be okay, I guess, but I'd rather have you back.

…you are coming back, right?

It’s been weeks. I’m trying not to worry, but it’s hard. When I try to ask Coulson about you (when I see him, he’s barely around anymore) he just waves me away like I’m an annoying little kid. It makes me feel like I’m back at the orphanage and nobody will give me any answers. I hate that feeling. It pisses me off.

I’m trying not to be pissed at you, but it’s really hard. Like, I know you have to have good reasons but…I need you back. And you left anyway and I can’t talk to you and all I have is this stupid notebook that I smuggled out of a storage closet and I just

This fucking sucks. I miss you.


	6. so they get my voice but they can they can never get my soul yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, pre-2.01.

Skye –

Had my first day at school today.  That’s what it feels like, being the new kid in class.  A class where the cool kids are terrifying Nazi arseholes and the unpopular kids may or may not get murdered for aggravating someone.  I suppose it’s to my advantage that there seems to be a steadily arriving chain of new hires like me – the boy who sits next to me (there are a lot more men than women here, which just seems to be the case with Hydra in general?  I’m not sure, but it does make sense to me in a way) has only been here a week and a half longer, his lab partner has only been here a month – so none of us stick out too terribly much.  I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that I haven’t seen anyone I was at the Academy with – you’d think there’d be more.  I suppose it’s good for them (congratulations to my graduating class, few or none of you are traitors!  I’m sorry I’m getting unconscionably glib, I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone in days and I think it’s making me edgy) and it means I don’t have to work quite so hard to keep my cover up, probably, but – I don’t know.  

I think I’m lonely?  Which is silly, because I’d rather see nobody at all than see, for example, see Inge Finley that I did a neurotechnology project with and know that in all probability she had actually been a Nazi the whole time.  I didn’t even like her that much, but I still would hate to think she’d… well, you know.  Coulson told me that I ought to make sure I don’t stay cooped up by myself, but that’s easy for him to say, he’s not having to make friends with, again, Nazis.  I mean, I don’t know, there could be people here for the same reasons I am, but I don’t know that.  I can’t know that.  And I can’t tell anyone what I’m here for.  So I almost have to assume that the majority of people I have to look in the eye every day, they’re capable of thinking terrible things. They believe in –

Well, you know what they believe in.

The point is, I hadn’t realized when I agreed to this how hard that particular bit was going to be, I don’t think.  As such, I’m afraid I might be whinging a bit about it.  I’m sorry.  If you ever see these, I won’t be offended if you skim.

I think the only important part of them, really, is this: I love you.  I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, really, but I’m going to ask anyway, in the hope that someday… I don’t know.  Something.  

J.


	7. with my freedom from the mighty sky to the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye to Jemma, pre-2.01.

Jemma,

So I’ve started training with May. (It’s weird, when your SO turns out to be a literal Nazi your training kind of gets pushed to the side for a while. Who knew.) Is it weird to say I want Ward back? Yes it’s fucking weird, he was Hydra and also a total hardass, but compared to May his hardassery was nothing. May is… well, she’s sort of like Mr. Miyagi except without the screaming when she attacks, and also it’s not so much “wax on wax off” as “wax on wax off kick punch duck kick repeat six times.” It’s insane, my bruises have bruises. I feel like it’s not doing anything, but she says I’m making progress. The other day I got a nod! That’s practically a bear hug and an ice cream cone.

Trip says I’m getting better at it too, but I think he’s just humoring me. I told him so and he just laughed and said, “Girl, if you can’t take a compliment don’t blame me.” I smacked him and then we played Halo for an hour cause nobody told us not to. I totally kicked his ass.

Hey, look at that, an entire letter that didn’t mention feelings. Or you. Fuck. So close.

Come back so you can watch me learn to be a badass.


	8. why am I always acting timid and too careful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, pre-2.01

Skye –

You know, it’s funny.  Coulson had tried to make this sound like it wouldn’t be so bad.  “They may have all sorts of lab things you’ve never gotten to use!” and “just think of what you’ll be able to accomplish behind their backs” and, I’m not joking, he even tried to put a positive spin on my getting experience in the field, undercover.

And I smiled and I said, “yes, of course, sir” and I went along with it because I know it’s important that I do this.  I know that it’s important that I removed myself from the base.  (I expect you and Trip are the only ones who really miss me.  I’m sorry that it has to be like this, that I had to take this on, but - it’s the only way I could help.)  I stood back and promised to do my duty and maybe that’s half of why I’m the one that’s here, because I won’t object.  

I don’t have the training for this.  The only remotely brave thing I’ve ever done when undercover is let myself get knocked out, and we know how that ended.  (I’m sorry.)  But I’m here.  May showed me how to properly shoot a gun, she’s promised I’ll be looked in on and helped out as much as is possible but -- that isn’t much, I know that.  Everyone has more serious things to worry about, jobs of their own, babysitting me isn’t nearly so important.  I’m not so important.

I think that’s it.  I’m too desperate to be good to say no, and I’m easily the most expendable.  I’d feel bad if I left  you , I don’t want to be just one more person who’s done that, I’m so sorry, you deserve better than that, better than me, but clearly I can be taken out of the equation and the team still functions just fine.  There are other scientists.  I’m not necessary like you (you can fight  and  you can do the computers) or like May or Coulson.  I’d be sad to leave you for true, and I’d like to think you might be sad too, but I’m sure you’d all move on.  You’d find a way.  Coulson knows that, Coulson knows I’d be a loss but not a crucial one, he’s willing to let me go.  If it works out, wonderful.  If it doesn’t, it’ll be okay.

It’s really okay.  I think I know what I’m deep into.  I have to do this for everyone, finding information and giving Fitz space and learning what I can (I’m not sure how much I can learn in the general labs, but I’ll try) and I hope I can come back to report everything but I’ll try to think of a backup, just in case.  I’ll be okay.

Haven’t made any new friends.  The boy who sits across the aisle from me invited me for drinks and I had to work so hard to not outright say by virtue of being a  _male Nazi_ he was the opposite of my type, ta much but I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend waiting for me at home (said girlfriend  is  my home anymore, if she’ll still have me), so instead I told him I wasn’t feeling well because of “female troubles.”  I loathe using that excuse, but it certainly does shut men up.

I’ve been going to bed early, waking up early, running every day.  Probably you’d tell me I’m not eating enough, but I’m never hungry.  I’m managing.  That’s all I can really hope for at this point, and it feels like that’s all I’ve really earned.

I’m so sorry for everything.  I love you.

J.


	9. I'll hold this loss in my heart forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye to Jemma, around 2.01-2.02.

Jemma,

I get why you left. I do. It was Coulson’s orders and it was Fitz and it was the shit with Ward and, fuck, maybe it was me a little. I’ve had a couple drinks so I’m ready to talk about feelings and shit.

Fuck you. I don’t really mean that. But I do? I’m mad, Jemma, I’m so angry that you just left us, left me, and you didn’t tell any of us you were leaving. You fucking _know_ that’s a thing for me, it’s been a thing for my whole life. People leave me, Jemma, but I thought you were different. I thought you wouldn’t. The things you said to me…they made me think you actually cared. Well I sure fucking don’t now.

But I want to. I trust you, Jemma, or I want to. I wanna believe that you’ll come back to me, but right now I’m just angry and upset and feeling like shit and you’re not here to fix it and I hate that. I hate myself for wanting you. I hate you for leaving. I’m not gonna hate you forever but right now I do. Fuck. I’m gonna go punch something for a while.

Okay, I feel a little better now. But I’m still mad. I’m gonna go do something that has nothing to do with you now. I don’t even want to think about you for a while.


	10. to control against the pull of one magnet to another magnet to another magnet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, mid-2.03.

Skye -

Every time I ask Coulson how you all are doing, he only tells me about Fitz.  I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.  Does he think I only care about Fitz (is he completely ignorant)?  Are the rest of you not doing all right but he doesn’t want to worry me (I worry more not knowing)?  It’s frustrating.  I wish he would just tell me.  I don’t want to know you’re perfectly fine without me, exactly, but I hope you’re all well.  I hope that if you think about me, it’s briefly and fondly, but I know it’s not.  I know you’re mad, and you’ve got every right to be.  Everyone does, I made problems and then I ran from them because I was too afraid to

_[two lines of scribbles]_

Sometimes I’m in the lab, looking around, and it’s so pristine and white and sinister that I want to scream.  The only thing that keeps me from doing is that every day I last here without notice is one day that might be closer to getting to beg your forgiveness.

I’ve been watching a lot of home decorating shows.  It’d be nice to have someplace to decorate with you, properly and not just with a set of sheets and a poster or two and a box of sex toys under the bed.  We could paint walls and shop for silly utilitarian things like shelves and towels.  Sometimes when I get sad, I think about wouldn’t it be nice if there were separate versions of us, who got to be happy?  Then I realize that’s silly, of course.  But I can’t help it sometimes.

You’d find my work utterly boring.  Most of the time, I do too.  You apparently have to start at the bottom here, regardless of your qualifications, so it’s a lot of things that honestly, I was doing in my undergraduate work, except now it’s worse because I can expect that a lot of it is going to be ultimately used to carry out some nefarious plot or another.  Expect, not know for sure.  They’re even cagier with information here, nobody knows a damned thing outside of their own work.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.  Play the wunderkind and climb through the ranks, to get closer to the more classified projects?  I don’t know.  Coulson seems to think that’s simpler than it is, that if I just smile pretty and go along with things I’ll wow them into trusting me with more, but that’s easy for him to say.  There’s a line between playing the part and doing awful things.

I spend all day acting like I’m credible, but I don’t know that I’ve ever felt less credible in my life.  How on earth some people do this regularly, live a life that isn’t theirs, is beyond me.  Though I’m not entirely sure what my own life means anymore, either.  A lot more panic, probably.  

I’m sorry I’m such a mope and I’m sorry that everything is this way.  I love you.

J.


	11. let me know that, that my sick guilt is so unwelcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye to Jemma, post-2.03.

Jemma,

Today doesn’t really seem real yet. I mean, I know it happened. I can still hear the shot if I close my eyes (I haven’t really). I shot someone, I _killed_ someone. I don’t know what to do about that. He was going to kill you, I know he was, and I would’ve never forgiven myself for that, but – he’s still dead and I killed him. I haven’t really talked to anyone about it but I know what May would say. She’d say something like “We’ve all done difficult things to protect people.” Which, I mean, it’s different for her, she’s _Melinda May_. Me, I don’t even like killing spiders. Let alone…

I need to not think about this anymore, I guess. I’m still angry at you for leaving, but seeing you was – it was so nice, Jem. I mean you were scared and I was scared so it wasn’t as nice as it could’ve been, but just to know that you were still alive and not brainwashed or anything was such a relief. I wanted to go down and rescue you for real, but Coulson would’ve killed me. Or May, probably. Or both. Anyway.

I need you to fucking come home already so I can kiss your stupid face and bury my face in your stupid neck and forget everything else.


	12. and so I go back home to be by myself, I try everything I've ever read, desperate, I still can't get you out of my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma to Skye, post-2.03.

Skye - 

It’s still terrifying here, but I think I proved something to the horrible men?  I’m getting to sit in on fancier meetings, my lab partner and I, and all I can think is it’s because I went along on their awful mission to snag poor Donnie and did as I was told?  I think this is what Coulson wanted me to do, even though I’m not really even sure what I’m doing, but I’m hearing the most terrible things.  Plans they have to - I don’t even want say some of it, using things as weapons of mass destruction to take everyone out.

I’m being good, I’m saying what I ought and doing what I ought, but I’m even more afraid.  I ought to be brave but I’m not.  You’re brave, I wish you were here to tell me I could do it, but then if you were here to tell me that it’d be a different matter.  Sometimes I imagine, too, what you’d say if you were here to say.  Then I get too sad, usually, so it’s not very productive.

I was thinking about you last night, when I was in bed.  Thinking about your face, how stern and serious and frightening you looked peering over that gun in your hands, thinking about that look in your eyes when they met mine for that briefest - I didn’t hardly recognize you for a moment, but I was so in awe of the woman in front of me.  All tough and gorgeous and I was so lonely and I normally wouldn’t because I don’t know where we stand and I don’t mean to be disrespectful but I couldn’t get you out of my mind and my hand wandered and

I’m so sorry.  I love you, I do.

J.


End file.
